


Finding the Flaws

by sparrow2000



Series: Finding the Flaws [1]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 05:00:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13159791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparrow2000/pseuds/sparrow2000
Summary: The gang is gathered in London for Christmas. Spike is being nice, so naturally Xander is suspicious!





	Finding the Flaws

**Author's Note:**

> Written for 2017 noel_of_spike  
> Warnings: Boy kissing  
> Disclaimer: Joss and Mutant Enemy et al own everything. I own nothing  
> Beta extraordinaire as always: thismaz  
> Comments are cuddled and called George

**Finding the Flaws**

It’s a nice room, as rooms go. There’s a king-sized bed covered with a handmade quilt in a hotchpotch of deep greens and blues, and a counterpane folded neatly along the bottom in a shade that teeters between amber and gold and makes Spike think of cats’ eyes and the colour of a decent peaty malt. Two big arm chairs sit on either side of an unlit fireplace and the heavy curtains pulled across a window at the opposite end of the room to the bed give the room a cosy, cave-like feel.

But the bed, the quilt, the fire place and the curtains aren’t holding Spike’s attention. He’s focused on Harris, who’s standing in the middle of the room, in jeans and a dark brown t-shirt, his feet bare and his toes curled into the carpet. He’s got his arms crossed, biceps bunching nicely, and from the expression on his face, Spike knows he’d been rumbled. He wonders if he can carry out a pre-emptive strike.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” he starts.

“You’re being very calm about the whole thing?” Xander interrupts.

Bugger, Spike thinks. Wasn’t fast enough. He decides on denial as a plausible opening gambit. “Don’t know what you mean.” He leans against the wall by the door inspecting his nails. 

“Bullshit,” Xander replies. “You know exactly what I mean. I mean the thing where we’re cooped up with the gang and a gaggle of hyper-active teenage slayers for the whole holidays. Normally you’d be bitching and whining by now, and making cracks about Buffy’s love-life, but the silence has been, well, maybe not golden, but definitely kind of brassy.”

“Bit like the Slayer’s hair.”

Xander wags his finger. “See, that’s what I mean, right there. Normally there would be a lot more of that kind of comment and I’d be worried about what you’re going to say next and whether I was going to have to pick you up with a dust buster when you finally push Buffy too far. But instead, I’m worried because you’re not saying the things that would normally worry me.”

Spike picks at a bit of black nail varnish and flicks it onto the carpet. “And this worries you? The fact that I’m not giving you stuff to worry about? Just clarifying.”

“Yes, that worries me.”

“Glad we got that straight.” Spike pushes himself off the wall, rolls his shoulders and smiles.

“Oh fuck.” Xander retreats a couple of steps and the backs of his legs bump against the end of the bed. He sits down heavily. “You’re plotting, aren’t you? It’s the calm before the storm. You’re making nice now, because you’re about to do something awful.”

Spike takes a step forward and schools his smile into something a little more hurt. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s the second time you’ve said that in as many minutes,” Xander replies. His fingers rub restlessly on the counterpane. “Which means you know exactly what I mean.”

“That’s a lot of mean flying about. You’re always thinking the worst of me.”

“Your point being?”

Spike places his hand on his chest. Even he isn’t deluded enough to think it looks convincing, but when it comes down to it, it’s all part of the game they play. “I think I’m hurt.”

“Suck it up like the big manly vampire you are. So are you going to tell me your nefarious plan, or am I going to threaten to withhold sexual favours?”

“That’s harsh, Harris.”

“That’s me, harsh Harris, extortionist extraordinaire.” Xander spreads his arms wide like he’s presenting himself to an audience. 

“You do realise if you withhold sexual favours, it means you don’t get any sex?”

Xander frowns, his arms dropping back down to his sides. “Stop pointing out the flaws in my otherwise flawless plan. I’m extorting here.”

“Right, sorry. I thought you just needed the loo, the way you’re twitching.”

“Well, now you mention it, I do, but not badly enough to stop extorting. Spill on the evil plan.”

“It’s not evil.”

“So you admit there is a plan?”

“Alright, I admit there is a plan.” Spike sighs. “Satisfied?”

“Possibly. The jury’s still out. This plan, I assume, involves mayhem, snarky remarks and many grumpy super-powered chicks.”

Spike shrugs. “Well, maybe a bit of mayhem, but I thought we could leave the chickies behind.”

“You’ve lost me.”

Spike thinks about lighting a cigarette, but decides for once he’ll do without the props. “I thought we could get away for a couple of days,” he says. “Go up to Scotland for Hogmanay. Just the two of us.”

“What-a-may?”

“Hogmanay. It’s what the Scots call New Year’s Eve. Can’t have a proper Hogmanay in London. It just doesn’t feel right.”

“I hate to be the one to tell you, Spike, but you’re not Scottish. You really don’t have the accent, although…” Xander pauses, his eyes glazing over for a moment. “I wouldn’t mind seeing you in a kilt.”

“I look bloody gorgeous in a kilt. Anyway, you don’t have to be Scottish to whoop it up at Hogmanay.”

Xander draws his feet up and rests his forearms on his knees, his toes curling into the nap of the counterpane. “So what’s different about it? And how do you know?”

“I had a second cousin who was Scottish. Fiona, her name was. She and her husband Angus were all about tradition. About seeing out the old year properly and welcoming in the new one. Most Scots are the same - it’s practically part of their DNA. Fiona would spend the day before cleaning the house from top to bottom. Angus would be making sure the food and drink was plentiful. Hogmanay’s not a time for being a skinflint, even if you have to make do for the rest of the year. Then there’s first footing.”

“What the hell is first footing?

“It’s a bit like it says on the tin. It’s the first person over the threshold after midnight on Hogmanay. It’s about bringing luck to the house for the coming year. The best luck comes from your first footer being a tall, dark haired man. Thought you could be my first footer.”

Xander smiles. “I could do that. Tell me more.”

“Traditionally, you’d bring a lump of coal with you, so the house will always have warmth, and a bottle of something as a gift. Angus was dark like you, so he’d go out of the house just before midnight and when he’d hear the bells chime, he’d knock on the door and Fiona would welcome him in with his coal and his bottle. Then friends and neighbours would visit through the night and into the following day and the year would be started in grand style. I remember Fiona always insisted on steak pie for dinner - it’s another symbol that the house will always have a meal on the table.”

“Sounds like a neat tradition,” Xander says. “But I don’t really see what it has to do with you being okay with spending Christmas here.”

Spike shuffles his feet and studies the carpet. It’s a dull unforgiving brown. He looks up. “I wanted us to have some traditions. Stuff just for us. I thought if I was reasonably well behaved, your chickies would be less likely to give me grief about corrupting you and trying to lure you away for a weekend on our own.”

“You corrupted me years ago, as they well know.” Xander says. “And we’re both grown men. Well, you’re a grown vampire, but you know what I mean. If we say we’re going away for a weekend together, they can’t exactly stop us.”

Spike raises an eyebrow.

“Okay, so they can.” Xander lets go of his knees and flops back onto the quilt. He lies still for a few moments contemplating the ceiling before sitting up again. “But they won’t. Not if we keep them sweet.”

“Hence my evil plan to be nice to them over Christmas so we can bugger off to Scotland for Hogmanay and a bit of uninterrupted buggery of our own.”

“I like your plan.”

“Of course you like my plan.” Spike slinks forward. “It’s a great plan.”

“There’s just one flaw that I can think of.”

Spike stops slinking and frowns. “There aren’t any flaws. As plans go, it’s pretty flawless.”

“Hey, you found the flaw in my plan, so turnaround’s fair play.”

“Okay, dazzle me, Harris. What’s the flaw?”

“Who’s going to tell the girls that we’re going to Scotland?”

“Bollocks.” Spike sinks down onto the bed beside Xander.

“We could elope,” Xander suggests.

“We’re not getting married.”

“You know what I mean. We could just disappear. Not tell them we were going.”

“And have a brassed off witch and slayer on our tail.”

“Good point. Okay, we present a united front and tell them together.”

“And we wait until Boxing Day morning, when they’ll both be hungover, because the Slayer can’t resist getting stuck into the eggnog. They’ll not be in the mood to argue and when they sober up, we’ll have the moral high ground.”

Xander grins. “I like it. You are a very smart and sneaky vampire.”

Spike preens, pulls a cigarette out the pocket of his jeans and lights it with a flourish.

Xander drums his fingers on the counterpane. “Spike, you realise that moral high ground you’re talking about. It’s going to turn into quicksand the minute they realise they’ve been played.”

Sighing, Spike takes a long drag of his cigarette and stares mournfully at the unlit fireplace. “Yeah, I know. We’re not going to get out the front door, are we?”

“Nope, not a chance in hell. But it was a nice idea. You planning a weekend away - it was thoughtful.”

“Yeah. It was, wasn’t it.” Spike pauses. “Just don’t tell anyone. It would spoil my rep.”

Xander reaches across and pats Spike on the head. It’s really patronising, which is obviously the point. “Check, no ruining your big bad reputation.” He withdraws his hand and continues drumming his fingers, this time on his thigh. “You know, maybe we could do the Judy Garland, Mickey Rooney thing instead.”

“What are you on about?”

“We can do it right here in the barn. The barn, in this case, being the bedroom. We can get a decent bottle of something. I’m sure I could find a bit of coal and I can first foot you right here. We’ll light the fire, put on that DVD of Trainspotting you bought me last year and we can pretend we’re in Scotland.”

Spike points at Xander, the smoke from his cigarette flowing upwards like the plume from a steam train. “You, Harris, are a genius. Don’t listen to what anyone else says.”

“You know, there’s almost a compliment in there, so I’ll take it for the win.” Xander does a little seated jig that makes him look even more desperate for a pee. “Maybe we’ll get to Scotland next year.”

“Maybe we will at that.” Spike replies. “We should start thinking about it now. Give us time to work out the flaws in the plan.”

“We have a plan,” Xander replies with a decisive nod. “A plan for this year and a plan to plan for next year. So right now, all we need is to do is get through the next few days without you killing Buffy or Willow, or sundry baby slayers, then we get some whisky and some coal, and we’ll be all set.”

“I think I could lay my hands on a kilt as well,” Spike said. “If you fancy?”

Xander plucks the cigarette out of Spike’s mouth and kisses him. Hard. “Oh yeah,” he whispers. “Sounds pretty damn flawless to me.”


End file.
